


Blown Straight Back to You

by embroiderama



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Future Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 23:54:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embroiderama/pseuds/embroiderama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a few years of traveling, Neal returns to New York a bit the worse for wear, and both he and Peter find comfort in the reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blown Straight Back to You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marieincolour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieincolour/gifts).



> This was written for [](http://marieincolour.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://marieincolour.livejournal.com/)**marieincolour** as a somewhat belated feel-better fic. The title is paraphrased from Thea Gilmore's song "Breathe."

As Peter stood in the airport watching people stream by him it was difficult to believe that he hadn't seen Neal for more than three years. For so long, he'd seen Neal nearly every day, and for a while he had hoped that it would never end. It did end, of course. Neal finished his sentence, Peter removed the anklet, and after spending a few months rattling around the city Neal had left. There had been a few letters and a number of postcards from three continents worth of countries, and as of the last update Neal had taken a legitimate job with a museum in Norway. Nonetheless, the email he'd received from Neal two days previous had been a surprise. It had been short on any kind of explanation, but when Neal said he was returning to New York Peter hadn't hesitated to ask for his flight details.

Now Peter was at JFK, waiting near the baggage claim area assigned to Neal's flight as he'd promised. According to the arrivals display, Neal's flight from Oslo had been on the ground for a while, and a sizable crowd had formed around the baggage carousel, but Neal was nowhere to be seen. Peter pulled out his phone to check for messages and was considering making a call to see if Neal had actually boarded his flight when he heard a beep and looked up to see one of the airport motorized carts headed his way. Peter stepped out of the way then looked back down at his phone until he realized that the cart had actually stopped in front of him.

"Peter, hey. Sorry about the wait."

Peter blinked at the surprise of Neal being in the back of the cart, seated next to an elderly woman, and he opened his mouth to say something about conning his way into a ride when he realized that Neal looked like hell, pale and drawn. "What the--what's wrong?"

"It's not a big deal." Neal waved his hand and climbed out of the cart without quite his usual grace. "I got a little bit dizzy and they insisted on giving me a ride in this thing."

The woman who remained in the cart snorted. "Honey, if you were a little bit dizzy then I'm a few years past thirty." She leaned around Neal to look at Peter. "I waited until last to get off the plane so I saw it. Your friend was leaning against the side of that walkway thing looking halfway to passed out flat."

"Thank you, Mrs. Allen," Neal said, shaking his head at Peter. "It was nice to meet you."

"Neal--"

Neal held up a hand. "It's been a long day, but I'm okay. I promise." Neal went around the back of the cart to get his carry-on, but Peter took it from him then pulled Neal into his arms.

Neal was stiff for a moment, but then he hugged Peter back and leaned into him with a sigh. "It's good to see you," Peter said quietly. "Really good."

Neal straightened up, looking exhausted but happy. "It's really good to see you, too. Thanks for coming to meet me."

"As if there were any question. Now, you have more bags?"

"Just one."

Peter followed Neal over to the carousel where the baggage had finally arrived and watched as he located his bag. Before Neal could get his suitcase off of the conveyor belt, Peter moved in to pick it up.

"So, you're working as a Red Cap now?"

"Only for friends who look like they might be bowled over by the weight of their own luggage."

Neal rolled his eyes. "I'm--thank you."

"I'm not parked too far out but do you want to wait while I bring the car around?"

"I'll walk," Neal said firmly.

They walked out to the short-term parking area in relative quiet, but it felt comfortable, companionable. Having Neal next to him underlined how much Peter had missed him, that niggling ache that was rarely overwhelming but never quite went away. Once Peter had Neal's bags loaded into his trunk, once they'd made it past the parking booth and out onto the main road, Peter asked the question. "So, what is it? What's wrong with you?"

"I'm okay. Or, well, I will be."

"Uh-huh."

"I _was_ sick, but I'm better." Neal broke into a cough then, and Peter glanced sideways to see he had a hand pressed flat against his chest.

"Neal," Peter growled as he looked at the traffic around him to see if he'd be able to pull over if necessary.

"Mostly better," Neal said, his voice rough. "I swear."

"You want to give me some details here?"

Neal coughed again more briefly then sighed. "I had pneumonia, and it got a little bit complicated but the hospital released me, free and clear."

"Complicated how?"

"I didn't get the right antibiotics at first, and then after I ended up in the hospital I picked up another infection. It's all cleared up now, and I'm not contagious or anything."

"That's good to know, but Jesus, Neal. How long were you in there?"

Neal sighed but didn't immediately answer. Finally he admitted, "Three weeks."

"God." Peter had to force himself to focus on the road in front of him, and he was tempted to pull over for his own sake if not Neal's, but the desire to get home overrode that. "You had to--you must have been _really_ sick."

Neal didn't confirm that but he didn't argue either, and that was confirmation enough. Peter reached over and put his hand on Neal's shoulder. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me, too," Neal said. "Now, tell me what's going on around here."

"Sure, okay." For the rest of the drive home, Peter caught Neal up on the White Collar division office gossip. More serious conversation could wait for later.

~~~

Peter put Neal's bags in the guest room then went downstairs to check on the food El had left simmering in the crock pot while Neal freshened up in the bathroom. After he heard footsteps on the stairs, Peter went back to the living room to find Neal sitting on the couch looking wan and exhausted.

"I like the new furniture," Neal said, his voice sounding rough, and Peter didn't reply. He just turned around to go back to the kitchen then returned with a glass of ice water that he handed to Neal as he sat down beside him on the couch.

"El left dinner heating up for us. She has an event so she won't be home until late."

Neal nodded as he sipped at his water, then he cleared his throat. "Thanks."

"It's not a problem, but I think you should tell me about how sick you were. Or are?"

"Were. They said it would take me a while to get back to normal, and apparently they weren't lying."

"Yeah. So, what happened?"

"Pretty much just what I told you in the car. I didn't feel well, so I finally went to the doctor who told me I had pneumonia and sent me home with antibiotics. Apparently, they were the wrong kind, I don't know. I had some trouble breathing and ended up in the hospital. There was some kind of secondary thing going on with my lungs, and they drained it but then I got a staph infection. It all got kind of blurry for a while."

"Damn it, Neal." Peter felt sick, thinking of his friend being so ill, so far away. "Where was Mozzie in all this?"

Neal shook his head. "I haven't seen Mozzie in over a year. Almost two years."

There was clearly more of a story there but Neal didn't sound like he wanted to tell it. "So who--"

"I haven't been working with anybody, not like that. My landlady called the ambulance, and a couple of my coworkers from the museum visited at first but then the doctors wouldn't let visitors in anymore. In any case, there wasn't anybody--anybody nearby--who I really wanted to see."

Neal looked down and took another sip of water. He sounded exhausted beyond the aftermath of his illness, and Peter reached over to put an arm around his shoulders. It felt right, even after years of being apart, to have Neal close again. Neal sighed and relaxed, sinking into Peter's side just a little bit. "If I had known, I would have come."

Neal put down the water, the glass clattering as he set it on the table. "I--when I woke up, once I could put two thoughts together, all I could think was that I'm tired of being alone. I left New York because I didn't know where I belonged, and I was trying to find my place in the world."

"According to your postcards, you certainly tried enough places."

"A lot of places and a lot of things, and what I learned is that whatever I do for a living--whatever I do, I belong here."

Peter's throat felt as tight as Neal's sounded, and all he could do was nod his head and pull Neal in a little closer. After a long moment, Peter sighed. "So, what are you supposed to do to get back up to speed?"

"I have some breathing exercises, and I'll need to check in with a doctor here eventually, but mainly I need to rest, eat well, try to avoid getting sick again too soon."

"That sounds doable. You're welcome to stay here as long as you want."

"I don't want to impose. June's out of the country right now, and she has the house closed up while she's gone but I could find somewhere."

"I understand if you want more space, but I wish you would stay. El and I were talking last night, and neither of us had realized how much we missed you until suddenly you were coming back. It's been a little boring around here without the Caffrey influence."

"Thank you," Neal said quietly.

"Well, uh, it smells like dinner is ready. Hungry?"

"Definitely." Neal took a deep breath as he stood up, and that set off another cough. Peter quickly stood and put a hand on Neal's shoulder, and he thought that Neal looked terribly fragile, standing there with his eyes closed, one hand flat on his chest and his shoulders rounded in. However, when the cough was gone, Neal opened his eyes and straightened his shoulders, making himself look far healthier. Peter wasn't sure which was real and which the illusion, but he suspected the truth fell somewhere in the middle.

"Should I be worried about that cough?"

"I don't think so, it's just lingering irritation. And my ribs don't appreciate it at all, but there's not much I can do about that. I have some pain pills that I don't really like, but I'll probably take one later."

"Uh-huh. Any other drugs I should know about?"

"I have to take an antibiotic for a little while longer, and I have an inhaler for if I can't stop coughing or get out of breath."

"Is it in your pocket?"

Neal hesitated before answering. "No, my carry-on."

Peter didn't say anything. He just walked up to the guest room, picked up Neal's satchel, brought it back down and set it on the couch. "Will you at least put it somewhere that I can get to if you need it?"

Neal unzipped his bag and pulled out a blue plastic inhaler. He held it up for Peter to see then stuffed it in his pocket. "Point taken," he said quietly.

"Okay. Good. Okay." Peter tried to shake off the worry that he'd do the wrong thing and let Neal get sick again, let him slip away when he'd just come home. "Grab a seat at the table, I'll bring you a plate."

In the kitchen, Peter dished up El's chicken and potatoes then put together simple salads and carried them out to the table. It wasn't an elegant dinner, but he suspected it had to be better than hospital food. After they ate, Peter urged Neal to take one of his pain pills and invited him to watch a game on TV. The ease with which Neal gave into both things told Peter how tired Neal had to be.

"Maybe you should just go to bed?" Peter looked at Neal slumped on the couch, and when he saw a shiver go through Neal's shoulders he passed over an afghan.

"No, I'm good here," Neal insisted, despite the heavy look of his eyelids. He shifted to get comfortable, moving closer to Peter as he settled back down.

Peter put his arm around Neal's shoulders again then turned on the game. Before there was more than a single-digit score on the board he felt the weight of Neal's head on his shoulder and looked over to see his friend asleep with a peaceful look on his face, his breaths slow and steady. He murmured, "Welcome home, buddy," then turned back to the game. Despite his worry for Neal's health, Peter couldn't help smiling.

Having Neal back in reach made something right in the world, and he wasn't about to let him go anytime soon.

**Author's Note:**

> This story has a sequel: [All That Time Away](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1180160).


End file.
